


Jaime and Brienne, the first time

by NotEvenALittle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 01:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenALittle/pseuds/NotEvenALittle
Summary: This is a fanfic in the show universe to fill in the gap left by the show between Jaime and Brienne’s kiss and the cut back to them in bed, post sex. This is, almost entirely, smut. But like, smut with a heart of…gold?Hopefully this helps ease the pain of the dumpster fire that 8x05 was.Sorry if the flashbacks have stuff from the ASOIAF in them, I can't keep it all straight anymore.





	Jaime and Brienne, the first time

After several minutes of impassioned kissing following their first delirious collision, the two made their way to the fur-strewn bed. Their steps were clumsy, rushed, and unsure, neither of them wanting to be the one to take the lead in directing their trajectory past simple kissing, both of them terrified that if they tried in earnest to initiate the next step, the other would regain their senses and put an end to the whole thing. Despite all this trepidation, they somehow managed to make it onto the mattress, Brienne’s legs dangling off the side from just below the knee, Jaime’s knees planted by the outside edges of her thighs. His elbows supported him, resting on either side of her neck, his forearms framing her face, left hand tangled in her hair. His golden right hand lay awkward and useless by her brow, heavy on the end of his arm. In that moment, he longed for his hand, to be able to stroke her cheek, her breast, her hip. 

His thoughts dragged him to the night he lost that hand, hearing her screaming and fighting in the dark woods, feeling his stomach churn and flip as he sat helpless, chained to a tree. Over and over, he had imagined the filthy Bolton fighters tearing at her, his own comments from earlier in the day echoing in his skull: “If I were a woman, I’d make them kill me”. Perhaps that was what she intended to do. Either way, dead or defiled, he would never be able to live with himself had he not spoken up. It was worth losing the hand, he remembered for the thousandth time. It was one of the only things in his life he did not regret.

Back in his immediate reality, in bed with Brienne, his sweat-slick chest pressed against her own bare torso, he felt some of his apprehension fade away. He remembered the way it all began, and suddenly this night did not feel so much like an aberration, a fragile chance, but instead seemed to him almost an inevitability, built on years of loyalty, reciprocity, and honor. His confidence restored, he began to undo her trousers, the lesson learned from the laces of his own shirt so soon forgotten. He felt her hand on top of his own, and in a parallel to unlacing her shirt, he froze, waiting to see if this was a sign of withdrawn consent, a manifestation of her impatience with his fumbling frustration, or a moment where her need to assert her own agency and desire to continue must be physically expressed. They pulled away from the kiss, and stared into each other’s eyes as she brushed his hand away from the laces. 

“Let me,” she whispered, her voice warm and soft, empty of any judgement. Relief rolled through his chest, and he breathed a slow, rolling sigh, butterflies swirling in his gut as he realized what would happen after both of their trousers came off. Impatient and unable to contain his desire, he slid his hand down to her chest, fondling her right breast, rolling the dark pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His head followed his hand, and he kissed her collarbone and sternum on his way to her breasts, finally settling his mouth on the left one, trying to fill the kinetic void left by his golden hand. Brienne responded strongly to this new type of stimulation, her back arching with pleasure, bringing her breasts even closer to his grasp.

“Jaime…” She groaned, feeling the strange tingling spark of her arousal travel from her chest to her privates. Unsure whether this utterance was meant as an encouragement or a rebuke, Jaime stopped and looked up at her, waiting for direction. She lay with her eyes closed, lips slightly parted, unaware of his need for permission to continue. He hesitated, then spoke.

“Brienne,” his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the cozy silence of the chamber. “What do you want me to...is this...are you…?” He couldn’t find the words to ask what he really wanted to know. All at once, he wondered if this action was okay with her, if this event as a whole was okay with her, if doing any of this with  _ him  _ was still okay with her. And he could say none of it. Her eyes had flicked open at the sound of her name, and she had watched him with great curiosity as he tried to articulate his doubt. She sat up on her elbows and he sat back on his heels in response, still waiting to see what she would say. He tried to focus on her face, her eyes, her lips, but all he could think was ‘ _ does she still want this? does she still want me? _ ’. 

“I...undid the laces. Do you need help with yours?” She finally asked, and he was relieved by the return of her logistical rational focus. A slight smile touched his lips, and crinkled the skin under his eyes.

“I think we both know I do.” She smiled and sat up entirely, her hands already latched onto the laces of his trousers, deftly picking apart the tangled knots. He felt strange, with both of them sitting up like this, him still straddling her thighs, up on his knees, hyper-aware of the way his own thighs and buttocks rested on the tops of her thighs and knees, mesmerized by the fact that once they weren’t wearing any clothes, this contact would be skin to skin. He noticed that, seated in this way, he was just barely taller than her, and he looked at the top of her head, the way her white-blonde hair sparkled with the flickering light of the fire. Finished with his laces, she looked up at him, her hands still gently gripping the front of his pants. Her eyes flashed with a hint of fear, fear that he would take the lull at this crossroads to reject her. But as soon as she saw his own eyes, the fear subsided. He was looking down at her with an open, unguarded expression, what a more traditionally beautiful woman would have had no problem identifying as admiration and desire. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, Jaime kissed her. He was so absorbed in the moment that he forgot about his golden hand, bringing both hands up to caress her face as he kissed her. As soon as he realized what he’d done, he half-jumped half-stumbled off the bed, and his untied trousers dropped, ineffective, around his ankles. Brienne was still sitting on the bed, stunned by his sudden retreat as well as his sudden nudity.

He began fumbling with the strap of his golden hand, both arms shaking with a combination of frustration, urgency, and embarrassment. Brienne stared for a moment, frozen by her shock. At last, she jumped up and wrapped her strong hands around his right forearm, unwinding the long strap. The whole time, she kept her eyes locked on his, intent on calming him down. She knew firsthand how hard it was to be vulnerable with the people you care for, especially when you feel ashamed of your own body. She did not want this discomfort for him. When she finally freed the hand from his wrist, she pressed her forehead against his, and placed the hand on the table in front of the fireplace. Overcome with gratitude for her, Jaime put his hand on her shoulder and stood up on his toes to kiss her. When they came out of the long, soft kiss, they stood in the light of the fire. Jaime stepped out of his fallen trousers, and Brienne gave her own pants a final tug, letting them fall to the floor as well. This time, they both knew what they wanted, and they knew the other wanted it just as much.

“Are you ready?” Jaime asked, his left hand still resting on Brienne’s shoulder.

Brienne could not find any words willing to come out of her mouth, so she settled for an emphatic nod. Jaime gestured toward the bed with his right arm, unaware of his stump, and unbothered by it. Brienne went over to the bed and sat on the edge. Jaime followed right behind, achingly aware of his throbbing erection. When he reached the bed, he stood next to her, unsure how to proceed. 

“Well...lay down then.” Although it was an instruction of sorts, it came out more like a suggestion. She smiled at him, and raised an eyebrow as if to say “I’m humoring you”, as she lay back against the furs and pillows. He climbed into bed after her, straddling her hips, his body hovering over hers. His heartbeat was so loud, he wondered if she could hear it. She surprised him out of his own thoughts by leaning up and kissing him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him close. As they kissed and fondled and squeezed each other, she eagerly bucked her hips up toward him. He groaned when her soft pubic hair grazed his lower abdomen, between his navel and his cock. He began kissing her chin, her strong jaw, her neck, down to the old faded scars on her collarbone.

He felt his mind going back to that place, in the bear pit at Harrenhal. He remembered the way he found her there, how he tried to convince - no, tried to  _ beg _ \- Locke to pull Brienne from the pit. The image of her, wearing that ridiculous dress, neck and chest coated in blood, was burned in his mind forever. Jumping in after her hadn’t been  _ a _ choice, it was the  _ only _ choice. He hadn’t been armed, but neither was she. Putting himself between her and the bear was a practical tactical move, engaging his own captors need to protect him, but it had also been sheer instinct, the need to shield, to protect. Still, he would never be free of the feeling that if he had just brought her with him in the first place, had insisted more strongly, or at least if he had gotten back to Harrenhal sooner, then she would never have been hurt at all. He could almost feel the life-saving grip of her hands on his, could almost hear her ordering those hateful men to help her pull him out. 

Back in the moment, he felt her hands running through his hair as he kissed and sucked at her scars. He returned to her mouth to begin kissing again, and ran his right arm down to check how wet she was. He had once again forgotten about his hand, and was a little surprised to feel the sticky warmth of her on his stump. His eyes opened wide and focused on her eyes, also open in surprise. She pulled her mouth away for a moment, and he fell into the blue vastness of her gaze. 

“It’s alright, Jaime. You just caught me off guard. I’m ready.” Still lost in her eyes, he nodded and positioned himself above her. She felt the head of his penis pressing gently against the opening of her vagina, and let out a soft sigh. That was all he needed to encourage him to start. He pushed in, and felt the heat of her surround his member. They both gasped, and he pulled back to begin a second thrust. It was strange how limp his penetration had made Brienne, her hands laying palm up near her shoulders on the mattress. Her eyes were almost closed, and he wondered if she was simply lost in the feeling, or if she was too nervous to be truly present with him yet. He reached out his left hand and clasped her right hand in it. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, smiling distantly. He smiled back, and began to thrust with a slow, steady rhythm. Gradually, Brienne became more animate, and as she acclimated to the feeling of him inside of her, she began moving her hips up to meet his thrusts, and he adjusted his pace to match her enthusiasm. Soon, they were moving together fluidly, kissing and grasping and thrusting without needing to stop or shift positions. She wrapped her legs around his lower back and held him close as he plunged in deeper. She sucked in her breath and squeezed his hand in hers.

“Jaime, I...something is…” She gasped, trying to explain what was happening to her, all her words falling woefully short. He felt the walls of her vagina begin to tremble around him, and he did his best to keep moving at the same pace for her.

“You’re coming,” He said through a smile. Her first instinct was to exclaim ‘ _ yes, that’s exactly what I was trying to say, surely you knew what I meant, smart ass _ ’. But in that moment, she was completely consumed by the power of her orgasm, and all that came out of her mouth was a loud moan. It reminded Jaime of the sounds she made during swordplay, so much warmer and more joyful, but just as full of hunger. He felt her spasming and quaking around his cock, and he realized that he, too, was coming. A seed of panic burned in his gut, as he understood that he didn’t have time to extract himself.

“Brienne!” He cried as he crumbled against her chest, his tired body racked with several bolts of deep pleasure before his heartbeat slowed and his breath evened out. After several moments, he rolled off of her, to his left, and lay on his back beside her. She propped herself up on her elbow and faced him. 

“Are you...going to sleep here, tonight?” She asked.

“If you’ll have me, yes.” He wanted to smile, but he felt like this moment, this exchange, was somehow too important, so he settled for a friendly neutrality in expression.

“Goodnight...Jaime.” Brienne hesitated before saying his name, as if she could hardly believe that was the man she was speaking to.

“Goodnight, Brienne.” He answered, and a smile rushed onto his face as she lay down and rolled onto her side, facing away from him. He heard her fall asleep, though he wasn’t sure how he could know this, having never shared a bed with her before. But he remembered. They may never have slept in the same bed, but they had fallen asleep in each other’s company for weeks when she’d brought him to King’s Landing for Lady Catelyn. His expression became one of ponderance and worry as he remember that strange intervening period, when he was so caught up in Cersei’s campaign. He shuddered when he remembered Riverrun. If not for Brienne…

Just then, she rolled onto her back, and in her sleep, reached out and squeezed his forearm. He sighed. This was no time for the past. This was a time to savor the present. He sighed, and drifted off to sleep, her hand still caressing his arm.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't have anyone edit this for me, so let me know if you catch an error. I'd love to hear what you think in the comments!


End file.
